


I Might Disintegrate Into Thin Air if You'd Like

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Newt is here to help!, Short Drabble, Stretching, grumpy Hermann is grumpy, soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: “It helps me think!” Newton shot back, popping up next to his tray of a flayed exocrine gland, neon blue up to his elbows. Thank God he had put on the nitrile elbow length work gloves. The man was begging for a caustic burn half the time and blood poisoning the other half. “Look, I’m almost done getting this sample and I’ll be over at the sequencer for a while. Can you give me five seconds? Jesus.”-----Hermann is in a bad mood, and for once it's not actually because Newton's being annoying. Still. Newt's trying to help.





	I Might Disintegrate Into Thin Air if You'd Like

**Author's Note:**

> I drew Newt stretching Hermann's leg and then I WROTE Newt stretching Hermann's leg. Also, I've been listening to Modest Mouse on repeat this week, so, just accept that into your hearts, thank you.

The humming picked up sooner than usual. Little notes dropped into the quiet as soon as the ventilation turned over and blasted cold air down on them. It wasn’t long before snippets made their way out. “…mmhmm hmm ‘n God said something but he didn’t mean it, everyone’s life ends but no one mmhmm mm it.”

Hermann pinched his hand around the chalk, leaving divots in the slender calcium carbonate stalk that matched the half-moon imprints of his fingernails. He should be careful not to snap it. He breathed evenly through his nose, closing his eyes, and sinking down, down, down into—

“Easily. Equally. Fuck you over!”

 _Snap_.

“Newton, would you _please_ cease that caterwauling!”

Crumbs of chalk flaked off his shaking palm before Hermann slapped the two fractured pieces back onto the ledge with the rest of his pack. He turned, too quickly, and screwed his face up into a tight expression. It took a moment to huff out his frustrations before he spat out, “ _How_ is any of that _necessary_?”

“It helps me think!” Newton shot back, popping up next to his tray of a flayed exocrine gland, neon blue up to his elbows. Thank _God_ he had put on the nitrile elbow length work gloves. The man was begging for a caustic burn half the time and blood poisoning the other half. “Look, I’m almost done getting this sample and I’ll be over at the sequencer for a while. Can you give me five seconds? Jesus.”

“I know it won’t be five seconds, much less five bloody minutes!” Hermann wiped his palm down the front of his shirt, catching it on the plastic buttons. “You’ve been repeating the same refrains over and over and over, just. Just pop it on your stereo and get it _out_ of my _head_!”

“Oh. Oh, _your_ head. Dude, you wouldn’t know what was playing if it was projected in thirty-meter letters on—”

“I’m well versed in Mr. Brock’s discography, _thank you_.”

“Mister….” Newton blinked, his turn to scrunch up his face. “ _What_?”

“Never mind,” Hermann grumbled and turned away, carefully climbing down the ladder.

The real ire that had been poking at him all morning flared up as he slipped the last three steps and tumbled hard to the ground. He did not miss the soft “oh shit” from across the room before the distinct snap of rubber gloves shucked off and tossed into the nearby biohazard container. The short _plud-plud-plud_ of “vintage” Doc Martens on the grated metal floor and a short, inexcusable grunt as Newton dropped to his side and grabbed his arms.

“I’m fine,” Hermann mumbled, more embarrassed that he fell, more in pain from a stiff leg he must’ve slept on wrong last night and had been screaming at him all morning. The fall had done its level best to knock the wind out of him and he only had the strength then to bat at Newton’s arms. “I’m fine I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Newton said, keeping his face out of swatting distance. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Don’t knock my glasses off, dude. I’m warning you.”

“I’ll knock your bloody head off,” Hermann growled back and shoved as hard as he could against the gentle give of Newton’s shoulder. He got a laugh as a return comment and pushed his knuckles back into his eyes to blot out the light.

“You’re so dramatic,” Newton muttered, putting his arms around Hermann’s torso.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you up.”

“Don’t help me up.”

“No, I’m helping you up.”

“Don’t help me up!”

“I’m helping you up!”

“DON’T—”

“I AM ALREA—”

“ _NEWTON_!”

The shouts were unnecessary. One tossing words over the other, each of them trying to be the last man standing, as it were. Turns out, that would be both, because Newton was persistent, and Hermann was equally persistent, but he was at the slight disadvantage of having fallen and, lo, could not get up. God. Perhaps he _was_ a senior citizen. Well, nothing better to do than to crumple and die.

“Look, I know one of those legs works, man. Stop doing the whole liquid cat routine on me,” Newton said with a grunt, adjusting his arms up under Hermann’s armpits and hoisting him up. It was enough to rattle Hermann and he did, indeed, push up with his stronger foot. “There we go. Chair.”

“Newton, I—”

“Shut up, dude. Chair.”

Well, it did seem terribly useless to argue, didn’t it? Newton propped him up and they looked around for Hermann’s rolling chair, tucked in neatly against his desk. It was a few awkward steps over to it, Newton taking more of Hermann’s weight than he would care to admit, and a quick kick of his stained boot to get the chair out enough where Newton could deposit him. Hermann slumped down quickly, the back of the chair mercifully braced against his desk, so it didn’t decide to abandon him and slide out, leaving him to the mercy of gravity _again_.

“Much better,” Newton said through a sigh. Hermann sat awkwardly, half his weight on his good leg, his hand a tight fist over his thigh. He attempted a “thank you” through clenched teeth, too busy letting himself settle. Blasted thing was acting up. Weather change, perhaps. Or a cold. Or he was tired. Or he had over extended himself yesterday. Or who bloody cared, the thing _hurt_. And it showed that it hurt. Utter betrayal. Hermann would be embarrassed more if he wasn’t pissed off.

Newton dusted his hands, looking intently at Hermann’s leg as he began to kneel in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Hermann asked quickly, pushing hard with the loafer flat on the floor, like he meant to wheel away.

“Re _lax_ , man. I’m not gonna bite you or anything.” Newton settled on one knee, the other kicked up against the seat of Hermann’s chair to keep him from spinning away, exactly like he wants to in this very moment. “Look. So you probably pulled your lateralls here, and that’s okay.” He pushed Hermann’s hand out of his way, digging a thumb into the knotted bit of flesh on the outside of his leg. Hermann dropped his head back, scowling at the ceiling. “And that illio-tibial band is, like, _tight_ , dude. Ahh, lacerations to tensor fasciae, sartorius…ah, sorry, don’t squirm. Didn’t know you were ticklish.” He laughed, his face blank and kind as he moved his thumb in a practiced circle, adding a bit more pressure when Hermann jerked at the lighter contact. “I’m guessing, strictly guessing, dude, from the misalignment of that femur against the obturator foramen, you’re pulling all of this outta wack.”

“Brilliant observation, yes, just…be careful,” Hermann muttered pathetically, moving his fist off the arm rest and up to Newton’s shoulder, grabbing a hold of his already wrinkled cream button-down. At least the man had _attempted_ to abide by the dress code today. He had forgone his usual sloppy tie, which was probably for the best. Hermann would have grabbed it blindly and pulled as he tried to maintain purchase on the chair. Newton’s face would have dropped down between his legs. The image alone made Hermann bite his lip again and his face went a shade or two more towards crimson.

“I’m super careful,” Newton answered with a soft smile ticking up the side of his mouth. He slid his hand flat along Hermann’s thigh, never lingering on the obvious scar tissue he could feel through the khaki slacks. Instead, he transferred his hand under Hermann’s knee and started to push upwards.

“What are you doing?” Hermann said, panic pitching up his voice. “I said be careful!”

“Relax,” Newton answered slowly, calmly. A rare quiet moment as he continued to push up and up until there was very little give left. He hummed the same song from before to himself, keeping it locked up behind his lips as he guided Hermann’s leg through a stretch.

“I do not relax,” Hermann answered tightly, slowly letting his gaze tick down from the ceiling and to the carefully maintained mess of hair atop Newton’s head.

“Yeah. No doubt. Do you try to stretch this out at all?”

“No,” Hermann answered stubbornly.

“Oh. It shows. That was rhetorical.” Newton pulled back a little and then pumped forward again, pushing in just smidge more as Hermann’s body—betrayer! useless! vile turncoat!—loosened up under Newton’s care. “I think this would help a lot. If you promise not to cane me, I could probably do this for you, like, once or twice a week.”

“I will not ask you to do that,” Hermann answered, hissing when Newton raised Hermann’s calf up to the height of Newton’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Newton answered with the smallest shrug, smiling again. He hummed his tune, using it as a means to count the seconds between his movements.

And he did, indeed, not push it. He seemed very focused in the now. Hermann forgot that the man had several PhD’s, one of which was in biology, more precisely in human biology as opposed to xenobiology, which helped with his kaiju samples. Another in physical therapy. He did have wonderful hands….

After a time, Hermann’s fist wasn’t strangling Newton’s shirt and he sat back, allowing Newton to shift and poke and massage his leg as he needed. As he chose. He was surprised at how short and how long the time appeared to be when he finally patted Hermann’s knee and stood up.

“That should be better,” he said, snapping his lips together like he was chewing gum. “I can go get you an ice pack. Should help.”

“No,” Hermann said, sitting up in the chair now that he was free to move on his own. “No, thank you. You’ve been…more than helpful.”

Newton winked before he stood, stretching his arms above his head before he belted out, still trapped on that earworm he had, “What the hell is in the way?”

Hermann laughed despite himself, watching Newton cross back over to his divide in the lab. He spun slowly in his chair, listening to the _plud-plud-plud_ of shoes, the fuss of finding that box of gloves, the short rattle of metal as his tray of tools was disturbed and righted before everything fell off and he’d have to go sterilize everything. And the hum, hum, humming of that song trapped in his head, lyrics missing and making it impossible to get it out. Hermann looked down at his keyboard a moment, massaging the near invisible imprints of Newton’s hand on his leg before he booted it up. Well, why not a little something from _The Moon & Antarctica_, yes? He queued up the song, adjusting the volume, and started it up before he grabbed his cane, helpfully leaning against his desk where it had previously been abandoned near the chalkboard. Hermann wanted to say thank you, but he figured playing the song would do just as well.

He had to smile at the little “tsk” from his lab partner, the gasp.

“You have—”

“Yes, of course I do, Newton,” Hermann answered, rolling his eyes. “You don’t _own_ the affinity for indie rock.” He stood, walking easily over to his chalkboard, grabbing up the half of chalk he had left, and climbing the ladder.


End file.
